


Caught Up in a Dream

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:31:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7117702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arkadia's Princess is notoriously reclusive, but somehow Bellamy's crisis gets him a meeting with her. She may be helping him out, but she's clearly guarding a lot of secrets and as much as he likes her, he's not sure if he can really trust her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught Up in a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> This turned out way longer than I planned but it happens, I guess. Don't spend too much time trying to figure out what time period they're in. Title from "Wake Me Up" by Avicii (because it's punny). Hope you enjoy!

Bellamy doesn’t really expect to be granted an audience with the crown princess of Arkadia.

And not just because he’s little more than the son of a seamstress. She doesn’t grant _anyone_ an audience. She’s a mystery of the kingdom, the unknown princess who sees no one and never appears in public. He hadn’t gotten his hopes up about meeting with her, or anyone else in the palace, to help with his problem.

Really, he hadn’t gone looking for help at all. All he’d wanted was a drink at the local tavern, something to drown his sorrows, make him forget what it felt like to put his mother’s body in the ground, dull his senses. Instead, he’d run into a friend from his childhood. He and Nate weren’t close anymore– Nate was a guard, and as such, lived and worked at the palace– but he’d heard about Bellamy’s losses and approached him to offer condolences.

Bellamy, sad and drunk, had been powerless to prevent himself from spilling his woes.

If he’d been in the right mind to think of it at all, he wouldn’t have expected much more than a sympathetic ear, a clap on the back, a companion to share a drink with. He never thought Nate might be in a position to get him some sort of help.

Yet here he stands in his best clothes (which are still too informal) and the promise that Princess Clarke will be along to meet with him shortly.

The door opens and he whips his head around, relaxing only when he sees that it’s Nate entering and not the princess.

“What the hell?” He demands, holding up his summons. Nate smirks.

“You were pathetic. She needed a project,” he shrugs. “Everyone wins.”

“You think she’s going to help me?”

“Not if you keep acting like an ungrateful asshole.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Not much,” Nate shrugs, settling into a stance by the door that Bellamy can tell he holds often. “Just that I had a friend with a quest, and that I thought she’d find it interesting to meet with you.”

“And that convinced her?”

“She gets bored a lot,” he shrugs.

“Must be rough, being a princess.” Bellamy can hear his bitterness but doesn’t make much of an attempt to temper it.

“She’s too smart for this place,” Nate says, his voice hard. Defensive. And not in the way of someone paid to defend her, but in the way that a friend might be. “She’s too capable, too driven to be given nothing to do, or only trivial things. So she finds other outlets for her energy and talents.”

“And I’m one of those outlets.”

“If you play your cards right.”

Bellamy chews on this for a moment, watching the tension in Nate’s pose unwind.

“I don’t know any etiquette,” he admits. “How am I supposed to act? What am I supposed to call her?”

“Clarke is fine.”

It’s not Nate who says this, but a woman’s voice. His head whips around again, which– he’s really going to give himself neck problems if he keeps this up– and he sees that the princess herself has entered through a door on the other end of the room.

She’s got perfectly princess-like blonde tresses, steely blue eyes, and a set to her shoulders that makes him think she could bear the weight of the world and cope with it. She’s more than he imagined. She’s everything a princess ought to look like, and Bellamy has no idea what he’s doing here.

He bows awkwardly and represses a glare at Nate, who is snickering.

“As for how you should act,” she continues before Bellamy can figure out what to say, “I really couldn’t care less about formalities like that. Just don’t try to kill me and neither Lieutenant Miller nor I will have any objections to your manners.”

“Oh, I have several objections to his manners,” Nate mutters, and the princess rolls her eyes.

“No more than anyone else,” she clarifies, casting an amused look at his friend. “I assume you have interacted with human beings before?”

It takes Bellamy a moment to realize she’s addressing him, but after a beat of silence during which she’s staring at him with her eyebrows raised, he snaps to.

“Yes, of course.”

“Could have fooled me,” Nate mutters, and this time the princess ignores him.

“Just act like your normal self, and we’ll get along fine,” she assures Bellamy.

He eyes the elaborate dress she’s wearing, the necklace that probably costs more than his home, the shiny tiara atop her head, and wonders if she knows how different her normal is from his normal. She really must not interact with anyone much.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“It’s Clarke.” She studies him and he draws himself to his full height and breadth. Everywhere her eyes fall makes him feel like he’s been doused with icy water, but she doesn’t seem to be disapproving of him. Simply making calculations, finding the sum of him. “What can I do for you–”

“Bellamy,” Nate supplies, when it becomes clear that Bellamy himself hasn’t understood why she cut herself off.

“Thank you, Lieutenant. What can I do for you, Bellamy?”

And there it is. The other reason he never sought anyone’s help.

“I don’t think there’s anything you _can_ do,” he says honestly. The princess’s eyes narrow.

“Why? Because I’m young? Because I’m a woman? Because–”

“No, no,” he rushes in, berating himself when he realizes that he’s just interrupted her. That’s definitely against the rules of interacting with royalty, but if she’s already offended, he thinks this is probably the lesser of the two strikes against him. “It’s nothing against you in particular. I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do.”

She’s still frowning, but with less heat.

“Explain.”

“My mother died about a week ago,” he begins. Her eyes soften a little more, the corners of her mouth twitching.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” he nods. “But the real loss actually happened just before she died.”

“Oh?”

“My sister. She’s– It’s a bit difficult to swallow.”

The princess’s eyes flash and Bellamy hastens to continue before she thinks he’s underestimating her again.

“When my mother was pregnant with her, she got really sick and almost miscarried. I was young. I don’t remember much. But she told me later that when it looked like she might lose the baby, she went to a witch in the next kingdom over who was able to give her a potion that healed her–”

The princess’s eyes flit to Nate and back so quickly that Bellamy almost misses it. He pauses in his story and looks to his friend, whose expression is carefully blank.

“Please,” the princess says, her voice suddenly hoarse. “Continue.”

“A healing potion,” Nate prompts.

“Yeah,” Bellamy says, drawing the word out as he drags his eyes back to the princess’s face. “But in return, she demanded that my mother give my sister to her on her eighteenth birthday. My mother agreed at the time, but when the date rolled around, we refused to give her up.” He pauses. “ _I_ refused to give her up.”

There it is. The raw truth. It’s at least partially his fault his mother is dead, his fault his sister is gone. The princess might as well know who it is she’s speaking to: the man who got his mother killed, the man who wasn’t able to stop the witch from claiming his sister.

“What happened next?” The princess prods gently.

“When we didn’t surrender my sister, the witch took her. She was there one moment, and the next she was gone. Disappeared straight from our kitchen. At the same time, her potion from almost two decades before started to reverse its effects. My mother got sicker and sicker, and when she realized my sister was never coming back– It broke her. She gave up.”

“And she died.”

He nods, taking a shuddering breath.

“Like I said, nothing anyone can do. I don’t even know where to find the witch, much less what I’d do when I got there.”

The princess looks at Nate again, an unspoken question written across her face. Nate shakes his head, barely a motion at all, and something clicks in her expression, decisive and sure.

“What if I told you that I could help you?”

He’s the one looking to Nate now, who shakes his head again. This time, the message is clear: she’s not kidding.

“I would have a lot of questions.”

“Such as?”

“Where does the witch live? Why would she answer to a princess?” He means to bite back on his next question but it slips out. “Why would you even help me?”

“My motivations are my business and no one else’s,” the princess says, her tone brusque. “We have a court mage who can help us locate your sister, and I’ve spent my entire life making people listen who aren’t naturally inclined.” Her eyes flash on that last one, and he knows it’s true. “I’ll do everything in my power to get your sister back.”

If you’d asked him this morning, Bellamy would have said such a quest would surely be fruitless. Still, whatever power the princess has at her disposal is much greater than his own, and she looks as determined as he is to see this succeed. He doesn’t understand why, doesn’t begin to understand the how, but the princess’s promise shines the barest sliver of light into the darkness his life has become.

There might be hope after all.

 

* * *

 

The first thing the princess does is to call in her mage. He’s not at all like Bellamy expects, though this entire day has been one strange occurrence after another so he’s not sure why he even has expectations anymore.

The mage is younger even than the princess. He’s got an air about him that feels to Bellamy like a rainstorm: a heavy calm settling, with the crackle of energy lurking as if it could snap at any moment. Stillness that precedes chaos.

“Monty, you know Lieutenant Miller,” the princess says, and her tone holds mischief too. Bellamy doesn’t catch on until he sees how carefully composed Nate’s face has become and wants to smirk. He knew Nate preferred men generally; he wasn’t aware his friend preferred any man in particular. “This is his childhood friend Bellamy. I’ve offered him our help.”

“Oh?” Monty looks to Bellamy, but it’s the princess who speaks.

“He’s trying to locate a witch.”

“A witch?” Monty’s eyes widen. “Do you have something that belongs to her? That’s the only way I know of to find someone.”

“I don’t have anything like that,” Bellamy says, despair creeping back in.

“The witch has taken his sister,” the princess adds.

“Oh. That’s easier. The two of you have the same blood, and that’s a stronger connection anyway.”

“You need my blood?”

“It can stay in your body,” Monty assures him. And then, to the princess, “I will need a map, though.”

“Lieutenant Miller can accompany you to your quarters to retrieve one.” She nods to Nate, who gestures to the door, his face giving nothing away, then follows Monty out.

The princess takes a seat by the window, looking out over the grounds. Bellamy wonders how often she assumes this exact position. Nate says she gets bored; he bets she gets restless, too. He’s known her for an hour and he can tell she’s got too much fight in her to be restrained for long.

“What is your sister’s name?” She asks. Bellamy blinks when he realizes she’s caught him staring, but doesn’t look away.

“Octavia.”

“That’s pretty,” she says, her voice a soft thrum.

“Thank you, Your Highness. I picked it.”

“Clarke. How old were you?”

“Six.”

“I got a pet bird when I was about that age,” she says, smiling small. “I named it Mr. Chirpy.” Bellamy lets a laugh slip out, too surprised to rein it in. Her smile grows just a little. “Your mother took a risk, letting you name her daughter.”

“My mother didn’t have a husband,” he admits, walking over to the window so he can take a look at the view. Wondering what she stares out at for hours on end. By all rights, everything she can see should be hers, and it’s clear to him that she wants it. Yet she’s never seen, never spoken to. It’s a puzzle he doesn’t feel he has all the pieces to yet.

“She was often busy providing a life for us. My sister was always more my responsibility than hers.”

“We’ll get her back.”

He looks down at her, taken aback by the fire in her tone. Before he can say anything, Monty and Nate return.

“Alright,” Monty says, his tone brighter than before. He’s not as good at controlling his expressions as Nate is. “Let’s find ourselves a witch.”

 

* * *

 

It turns out the witch lives only a few days’ journey away. It’s no trouble at all, if you have a horse (which Bellamy doesn’t) and the ability to leave your life with no warning for a week at a time (which the princess can’t).

“How is this going to work?” Bellamy groans. He’s stretched out on the floor, staring up at the gilded ceiling and thinking hard. He’s mostly given up formalities by now. The princess is lounging in the window seat and sketching, Monty is hunched over the map as he plots their course, and Nate is sitting in a chair near him, ostensibly guarding everyone.

“We can come up with some sort of legitimate excuse for Lieutenant Miller to be sent in that direction,” the princess muses, hands skillfully working a pencil across the page.

“Or you could summon the witch like you did with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not technically allowed to see anyone who hasn’t been approved,” she confesses, her face coloring though her tone is unapologetic. “In whatever office handles the summons, you’re officially here to see Lieutenant Miller.”

“How come?”

Her hand stills.

“I can’t tell you that. But I doubt a witch would answer Lieutenant Miller’s summons.”

Bellamy sighs.

“Alright, so we– you– find an excuse to send Nate, and… what? Write the witch a letter? Deliver an in-person summons?”

“I would accompany him, of course.”

Nate looks up at this, not as disinterested in the conversation as he might have seemed.

“How?” He asks. Monty pauses in what he’s doing as well.

“I often go for days at a time without seeing anyone. A week is rather unusual, but not impossible if we get the right people in on it.”

Her tone indicates that this is something she’s grown accustomed to, not being seen. Bellamy doesn’t understand how it could possibly be true. Her presence alone is so weighty, he thinks the palace might float away without her anchoring it to the ground. How she could live a life of such solace that no one would notice if she weren’t there, he can’t imagine.

“And if your parents come looking for you?” Nate asks.

“Then the jig is up,” she sighs. “That doesn’t happen often either. I’ll leave them a note so they won’t start a war or anything, but the Queen isn’t likely to miss me.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Bellamy says before he can stop himself.

“That’s the way it is,” the princess says coolly. “So we get Nate officially sent with three unspecified companions. They’ll have the right number of horses missing, but they won’t know who is supposed to be riding them.”

“And then all we have to do is reason with a witch.”

“The easy part.” The princess’s tone is dry, and Bellamy shoots her a wry smile.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy rises instantly at the knock on his door. It’s been a couple of days since the princess sent him home to pack some belongings and ready himself for the journey. She told him to be prepared to leave at a moment’s notice, and he takes that advice seriously. The sooner he can get Octavia back, the better.

He expects it to be Nate at his door, but when he opens it he finds the princess herself standing before him. He hasn’t been this close to her before, hasn’t pictured her wearing a pair of trousers and a casual tunic instead of her stately gown, hasn’t known that she smells clean and sweet. Never dreamed he would be privy to any of this.

“Ready?” She asks, smiling up at him.

“More than,” he replies, motioning for her to step back so he can lock his door behind him. By the time he’s turned around, she has mounted her horse with practiced ease. Nate is holding Bellamy’s by the reins and he takes them with trepidation.

“Is there a problem?” Monty asks.

“I’ve never ridden before,” Bellamy admits. He manages to swing himself into the saddle with some coaching from the princess and without needing a hand from Nate, but once he’s up, he has no idea what to do.

“Here,” the princess says, sidling up next to him. “Just follow my lead.”

His horse seems to know her voice, seems to understand the commands the princess tells Bellamy to give with his feet or a pull on the reins. Still, it’s slow going and his horse isn’t responding quite as well as the princess’s.

“He knows I’m new at this,” Bellamy grumbles.

“Of course he does,” the princess laughs. “He can sense your fear.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Sure you’re not.”

“We’re headed to face off with a witch. I’m way more scared of that than I am of falling off this horse.”

“So tell it who’s boss,” the princess says, nudging her horse so that it picks up its pace a little. “For the record, that advice goes for talking to the witch, too.”

He tries to copy her motions, pleased when his horse starts trotting faster.

“I’m not sure you’re one to be giving me advice on talking to people,” he tells her when he’s caught up.

“What does that mean?” She asks, insulted. It’s only a little surreal to remember he’s speaking to the future ruler of his country. He still doesn’t know her well, but she doesn’t seem to mind his abrasive personality.

“I just don’t get how you’re so socially competent when you’re such a hermit,” he teases. “I’ve interacted with way more people than you have. If either of us is an expert, it should be me.”

“Clearly all that practice hasn’t done you much good,” she says, but she’s smiling. She hasn’t been able to stop smiling all day.

“Uh huh. Here’s a tip, from me to you: if you’re gonna make your insults believable, you shouldn’t grin through them.” Her smile grows even wider.

“Can’t help it. I never get to go anywhere. This is the first time I’ve been off the palace grounds since I was a little girl. I’m not letting anything bring my mood down today.”

“Really?”

“Don’t sound so shocked. You’re the one who pointed out what a recluse I am.”

“But not by choice.”

Her smile falters slightly.

“If you don’t go outside much, how did you get so comfortable on a horse?” He asks, changing tacks. They’d been having pleasant conversation. He’d hate to ruin her furlough for her.

“I never said I don’t go outside. The palace grounds are quite extensive.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he admits. “The only time I’ve ever been near the palace is when you– or Nate, I guess– summoned me the other day.”

“I’ll show you sometime,” she says softly. “They can be lovely. In the center, there’s a fountain with statues of ancient gods and goddesses. When I was younger, my tutor would tell me their stories as an excuse to let me out in the sun.”

He can picture a tiny version of the princess, bright golden hair and unquenchable thirst for excitement, begging her tutor to be out of doors. Running around gardens. Even in his mind, though, she’s mostly alone.

“Do you remember them?” He asks. “The tales, I mean.”

“Some. I always liked stories. Especially the adventures.”

“Octavia did too,” he remembers, fondness warming his chest. “She had no time for heroes or heroines who waited around to be saved, instead of saving themselves.”

The princess’s smile droops again. It’s getting difficult, picking through this minefield without the slightest idea what’s dangerous ground and what isn’t.

“Perhaps by the time we get there, your sister will have already staged her own rescue,” the princess says, her voice serious.

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

 

* * *

 

They make camp for the night by a stream. Nate tries to set up a tent for the princess but she will have none of it.

“I can sleep on the ground like anyone else.”

“A tent would be so much safer–”

“You of all people know my safety is not that big a risk. Not yet.” Bellamy frowns. As the crown princess, her safety should be of utmost importance.

“It’s my _job_ , Clarke.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“We have?” Bellamy puts in. He’s tired of listening to them argue. If there’s arguing to be done, he’d rather be a participant than in the audience.

“Lieu– Nate and I have. We agreed that it would be safest if no one even knew we were from the palace. He’s not wearing his uniform, I won’t refer to him by his rank, and we’ve dressed to look like we have nothing of value to be stolen.”

“Right,” Bellamy scoffs. The princess, about to take up her argument with Nate, pauses and turns to him.

“What?”

“You may be dressed like a peasant, but there’s no way you’ll pass for one,” he tells her, looking her up and down. “You’re too clean, your clothes are too well-kept, and don’t get me started on your hands.”

Clarke squints down at them.

“What about my hands?”

“You can see someone’s trade on their hands,” Bellamy says, holding his own out for inspection. “See where my calluses are? That’s from pricking myself with needles my whole life.”

To his surprise, the princess catches his hands in her own, pale and soft against his. She cradles the backs of his hands carefully as she traces the calluses on his pointer fingers. She’s so close he can hardly breathe and he’s so stunned he can hardly move.

“Looks like you could stand to improve your needlework,” she says, dropping his hands. He can still feel her touch ghosting over his skin and clenches his fists until the sensation ceases.

“I’m just saying, it’s fairly obvious you’re not a trade worker, Princess.”

“Clarke,” she corrects him, but he nearly misses it when Nate speaks over her.

“Wearing in her clothes and dirtying her up can be dealt with. Do you think her hands will really give her away? Is it a threat to her safety?” He’s shifted back into his tense protector mode, and it strikes Bellamy once again how seriously his friend takes this job.

“Anyone asks, we can say she’s a page,” he tells Nate. “Delivering messages doesn’t break any skin on her hands, and nobody will be looking at her feet.”

“My feet wouldn’t give me up anyway,” the princess smirks. “You try wearing the kind of shoes they make princesses wear.”

“Maybe some other time,” Bellamy says, triumphant when she laughs. “And if my opinion is worth anything, I doubt you’ll be safer in a tent. It just makes it look like we have something valuable we’re trying to protect.”

The princess gives Nate a look and he relents.

“Fine,” he sighs, relieving his horse of his pack. “But I reserve the right to change my mind.”

“Fair enough.”

By this time, Monty already has a fire going and has laid his bedroll out. Bellamy feels that it is benevolent of him not to comment when Nate spreads his own right beside the mage’s. He’s not surprising anyone. Bellamy is surprised, however, when the princess pulls his things closer to where she’s set up.

“Not worried I’m going to kick you in the middle of the night?”

“Should I be?”

“Probably not. I sleep like the dead.” He says it jokingly, but once more her face betrays a pained reaction to something he’s said. He hates it, feels like he can’t get through a simple conversation without upsetting her in some mysterious way.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, gentle as he can be.

She shakes her head and changes the subject.

“You have to call me Clarke.”

“Huh?”

“You called me Princess earlier. If I’m a page, you can’t do that. For my safety, you have to call me by my name.”

“I thought you weren’t worried about your safety,” he says, remembering her words earlier. She stiffens.

“Then do it because we’re friends.”

Bellamy presses his lips into a hard line, trying to keep his thoughts to himself. Friends? They can’t be friends. She’s the second-highest ranking person in the country, and he’s a bottom feeder on the food chain. She’s lovely and strong, and he’s a screw up. She keeps secrets and keeps people at arm’s length, and he– well. He has no one. He might have Nate. But he certainly doesn’t have her. There’s too much she’s not divulging.

But he can’t say any of that. If the princess wants to call herself his friend, he can do nothing but let it happen.

“Fine,” he sighs. “Clarke it is.”

“Thank you.” She gives his hand a quick squeeze and turns back to Monty and Nate.

Bellamy doesn’t think the phantom tingling will ever really go away.

 

* * *

 

The next day he wakes up with aching muscles and the princess’s– Clarke’s– face inches from his own. It startles him so much he jerks back, rolling off the side of his bedroll and onto the forest floor with the loud crunching of dried leaves and twigs.

Nate mutters curses in Bellamy’s general direction and Monty groans, but the princess– Clarke– just breathes in sharply and starts to rub her face with waking. Never in his life would Bellamy have believed that royalty actually wakes up prettier than the rest of the living world, but Clarke continues shattering his preconceptions right and left.

“What time is it?” She croaks, her breath stale, and yeah. That’s more like it.

“I don’t know,” he whispers, rolling onto his back before she can open her eyes. “Early.”

“We should get going. Your sister may not be waiting around for you to save her, but that doesn’t mean we have time to waste.”

“You want to break it to Nate, or should I?”

She snorts, a very un-princess-like sound, and her eyes flutter open, and she’s still prettier than he would believe if he weren’t seeing it for himself.

“The key to good leadership is delegation.”

“Yeah, yeah. I live to serve and all that.” He stretches, careful not to hit her in the face. “Must be nice to be on top.”

“I’m sure you’ve been on top before,” she smirks. Bellamy retracts his limbs and coughs awkwardly.

“I’ll get him,” he says, pushing himself up before he can embarrass himself further. He’s not exactly prudish, but he’s not prepared to deal with a beautiful princess making suggestive comments to him first thing in the morning. He’s not sure anyone who is at all interested in women is prepared for that.

Clarke and Nate ride up front this time, Monty lagging behind so Bellamy can keep up with him. Riding hurts more today than it did yesterday, and Bellamy’s horse is still resisting his commands a bit, but he keeps telling himself it’s for Octavia and that’s what gets him through.

“What’s it like to be a mage?”

“Magical.”

“You don’t say.”

“It’s a broad question. What’s it like to be a tailor?”

“Dull,” Bellamy decides. “I’m not interested enough in the art of it to be any good or to really enjoy it. My work is adequate, and I’ll do it for a fair wage, but I’ll never be the one people bring their clothes to when they want the best work done.”

“What would you rather do?”

Bellamy pauses, considering. He’s never let himself ask that question before.

“Academics,” he replies. “I wouldn’t mind teaching, but I really just like to learn.”

“Now that you’re friends with the princess, I don’t see how that would be a problem,” Monty says, like it’s easy and obvious instead of a ridiculous fancy.

“Am I really?” He asks. Monty gives him a curious look. “Her friend, I mean.”

“Clarke doesn’t care about status.”

“Not _now_ , but–”

“She’s very loyal,” Monty interrupts, and it reminds Bellamy of Miller’s vehement defense of her that first day. Monty is less aggressive about it, but the strength of conviction is there. “Once you’re hers, you’re hers. She’ll fight for you until the day– She’ll always be on your side.”

For a moment all Bellamy can hear is the clop of his horse’s hooves on the trail. Monty must be silencing his somehow. Magic, probably.

“I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know,” Monty sighs. “She doesn’t realize that it doesn’t work that way for everyone.” He looks over at Bellamy from the corner of his eye. “She’s led a very isolated life. She needs people on her side, too.”

Bellamy clenches and unclenches his jaw.

“I’ve never felt like I had a side. It felt like the whole world was against us, from all angles and directions, and it’s always just been my family fighting shoulder to shoulder, back to back. I don’t know how to let someone fight for me.”

“You like to learn,” says Monty. “So learn.”

 

* * *

 

“I’ve made a list of words and topics I should avoid,” he tells Clarke when they pause by a stream to let their horses rest.

“Oh?”

He nods.

“What’s on it so far?”

“Princess, obviously.”

“Obviously,” she agrees. “That it? Short list.”

He throws a small stone at her and she swats it away with a grin.

“Sleep,” he adds. She frowns.

“Sleep?”

“Sleep,” he nods. “As well as the reasons behind your reclusive existence. And your safety procedures. And your parents not missing you.”

“I also hate the word moist,” she says, straining to make her voice light. She’s shutting down, shutting the conversation down. He really wasn’t trying to pry. He wanted to figure out how to navigate talking to her. Wanted to figure out how to show her she can trust him to be on her side.

“Clarke–”

“And bulbous.”

“I wasn’t–”

“Lugubrious. Phlegm.” He falls silent, watching as she distances herself from him. When she finally looks at him, it’s a beseeching expression. She’s asking him to drop it, and he can’t refuse her.

“Fester,” he offers. He’s not giving up. He’s just putting his curiosity on hold. She scrunches her nose in disgust.

“That’s terrible. Add it to the list.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m never getting on a horse again,” he announces to the group at large, wincing as he takes aching steps toward the clearing where they’ve made camp.

“That’s going to be problematic,” Nate points out.

“You’re going to be problematic.”

“Just remember it’s for your sister.”

“It’s the only thing keeping me going,” he assures Clarke, groaning when he collapses on the forest floor instead of his bedroll because she’s pulled it closer to hers. “What’s your deal?”

She freezes.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why do you want us to sleep like sardines? I would’ve thought you were used to having plenty of space.”

“Yeah.” She laughs without humor. “I have plenty of space. Nothing _but_ space. I have so much damn space I don’t know what to do with myself.” He shifts gingerly onto his makeshift mattress and brushes her shoulder with his. She leans into him like an instinctual response. “I just like to be close to people, okay? Do you have to make such a fuss about it?”

“No.” He leans even closer until her side is flush against his, shoulders and hips, knees and elbows. Points of contact where she can take from him what she needs. “But I like to make a fuss. Making a fuss is my wheelhouse.”

“Because you’re persnickety.”

“Sure.”

“And a grump.”

“That, too.” She leaves it at that and he almost does too, except– It’s bugging him. The way they left it earlier. Feeling the walls between them so concretely. So he takes a deep breath and tries once more.

“I’m not going to ask you about whatever deep, dark secret you’re keeping,” he tells her, feeling her stiffen against him. “That’s your business. It’s for you to tell, or not tell. You don’t have to worry about me getting close to it all the time. I swear it’s accidental.”

“I know.”

“This afternoon, I was just trying to figure out how to talk to you without mistakenly dredging up something touchy. If I ever bring it up for real, I’ll be a lot more tactful than asking you what your deal is.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she teases, but then she leans her head on his shoulder. It’s just one more place they’re touching, but he can feel wisps of hair falling from her braid against his skin, can feel her blink and swallow and breathe. And it’s a lot, honestly. He didn’t realize how much he missed this, being close to someone, since Octavia disappeared and his mom got sick.

“I should just tell you,” she says, startling him from his thoughts.

“Up to you.”

“You said that already. But– You should know.”

“Because we’re friends?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to. That’s not why I said any of that. You can wait until you’re ready.”

“I can’t, actually.” She picks her head up and turns to face him, which is great in a different way but he misses her warmth. “Either way, you’ll find out when we meet the witch. I have my own reasons for wanting to see her.”

“I kind of figured,” he says, shifting so he can see her better. It’s starting to get dark and he can kind of see her in the light of the fire Nate and Monty built. They’ve wandered off somewhere, whether to give Clarke and Bellamy some privacy for this conversation or to find some for themselves, Bellamy isn’t sure.

“So,” he says. “Lay it on me.”

Her eyes track across his face, resolving whatever doubts she has left.

“I’m cursed,” she blurts out. Bellamy blinks. “A witch cursed me when I was born.”

“Some birthday gift,” Bellamy says, because normalcy is probably a thing she wants. In general. And he doesn’t know how to process things normally anyway.

“You’re telling me.”

“What’s the curse?”

Clarke sighs.

“On my twenty-first birthday, I’m going to prick my finger on a sewing needle and the entire kingdom will fall into a death-like slumber.”

Bellamy gapes.

“That’s–” He pauses, searching for the right adjective.

“It’s bullshit is what it is,” says Clarke. “I don’t even sew. Not that I was ever allowed to, but I’ve never had any interest.”

“Except that your parents probably forbade you.”

“I may have argued the point with them once or twice.” She smiles grimly. “If it’s not supposed to happen until I’m twenty one, what’s the harm in me learning? What’s the point in searching everyone I meet for forgotten needles? How is it protecting me to keep me in solitary confinement? They didn’t buy it.”

“Not surprised. What’s the loophole?”

“The loophole?”

“The ‘until,’ you know? The back door clause the witch added into your curse. Like, ‘everyone sleeps until hundred years have passed,’ or ‘until the king and queen apologize for whatever they did to piss the witch off’ or something.”

“Oh.” She bites her lip. “There is no loophole. If anything, it would be the sewing needle, but–”

“There has to be a loophole,” Bellamy says, trying for a dismissive tone but sounding fairly panicked instead. “Some way to wake you up. Wake everyone up.”

“My parents have employed countless scholars to study the curse and find a way to break it. If there was a way, they would have found it by now. I’m hoping the witch who has your sister will either be able to lift the curse or tell me a way I can break it.”

“Out of the goodness of her heart.”

“Or the future ruler of Arkadia owing her a debt.”

“When does it take effect?”

Clarke’s gaze grows apologetic.

“About a month.”

Bellamy’s head is spinning. He doesn’t feel like he can get enough air to his lungs. He hopes his face isn’t doing anything that’s hurting Clarke’s feelings, because he has almost no control over it right now.

“So this is it,” he says, and it’s like hearing someone else speak. He wonders if this is what it feels like to have an out-of-body experience. “This is your chance.”

“Yeah.” Her voice sounds choked. It brings him back to himself and he reaches for her. “This is it.”

He pulls her almost into his lap. It’s awkward and more than a little uncomfortable, the way her knee presses against his thigh, the way he has to lean to reach her, but her lips meet the skin of his neck and she releases a shuddering breath that makes him think she needs this. He does too.

“Shit,” he breathes. She laughs, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

“You can say that again.”

 

* * *

 

He wakes up with Clarke’s hair in his mouth.

It shouldn’t be possible, given the not insignificant gap between them, but at some point in the night she must have turned with such force that her hair couldn’t be contained. She’s not facing him this time, for which he’s both grateful and disappointed.

His muscles protest in all the wrong places when he sits up to find Nate already awake.

“Finally decided to take this guarding job seriously, huh?”

Nate gives Bellamy a rude gesture and he grins.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the kingdom.”

“Shut it, Blake.”

“How much further?”

“We’ll be there just after midday,” Monty replies.The look on Nate’s face as he looks down at the mage makes something twinge in Bellamy’s chest. He thinks it’s happiness for his friend. It’s a weird feeling, but it’s nice. He could get used to it.

“Then what are we waiting around here for?” Clarke mumbles, rolling onto her back and smiling beatifically up at Bellamy. There’s the twinge again.

“For lazy princesses to get up.”

“You could have woken me.”

“I only just woke, myself.”

“The truth comes out.”

“Last time I tried to get you out of bed before you were ready, you told me I was committing a crime against the state,” Nate points out. She makes a face at him.

“Well, you were trying to get me to have breakfast with my mother. I was pulling out all the weapons in my arsenal.”

“Do you two not get along?” Bellamy asks, curious. He remembers what she said that first day, about not being missed. It’s less and less realistic the more he gets to know Clarke.

“My mother and I are very similar,” Clarke says, carrying her rolled bed back to where they’d saddled the horses. “Too alike. We butt heads over almost everything. I love her, and I know she loves me, but we can’t both be right all the time.”

“And she’s the queen, so she gets to win.”

“Exactly. Besides, I think–” She pauses, stroking her steed’s mane absently. “She’s never said as much, but I think she’s written me off as a lost cause. I’ll never be queen. I’ll never give her grandchildren... heirs. I’m a ticking time bomb that will bring the kingdom to ruin. Spending time with me only makes her sad these days.”

“I didn’t know my sister would be taken,” Bellamy says, feeling like his throat is full of gravel. “But I knew the illness would kill my mother. I was so mad at her for the deal she’d made, for leaving me alone to clean up the mess. Even so, I couldn’t leave her in those last days. And I don’t regret spending them by her side.”

“I wish I got to see my father more,” Clarke admits. “As I’ve gotten closer and closer to twenty one, he’s gotten more and more distracted trying to find a way to save us all.”

“Doesn’t he know you’re the kind of princess who saves herself?”

Clarke grins at this.

“If he did, I might not have been able to sneak away so easily.”

They press their horses faster today, Bellamy by Clarke’s side with Nate and Monty bringing up the rear. It’s an anxious silence they fall into, every step bringing them closer to the witch, closer to Octavia. Bellamy can feel himself getting more and more wound up the longer the silence stretches on.

“Tell me about your sister,” Clarke says, just when he thinks he’s about to burst.

“What do you want to know?”

“Is she as prickly as you are?”

Bellamy smiles despite himself.

“Not usually. Ninety five percent of the time, she’s my favorite person in the world.”

“And the other five percent?”

“She’s a pest,” he says, and Clarke laughs. He doesn’t tell her who’s starting to occupy that number one slot the other five percent of the time. That’s something he thinks he should keep to himself.

“I’ve heard that about siblings.”

“It’s not just a little sister thing,” he protests. “She was pretty wild, growing up. Always getting into trouble, putting her nose in places it didn’t belong, scheming and playing tricks.”

“And has she grown out of that?”

“Not in the slightest. She’s gotten smarter, more careful, but she’s still a force to be reckoned with.” He realizes he’s been staring at the road ahead with eyes unfocused and returns to himself, looking over to find Clarke watching him fondly. “I’d honestly feel a lot better about our chances if I were the one in the witch’s possession and she was the one rescuing me.”

“I feel pretty good about your chances,” Clarke says, turning to look ahead again. “I wouldn’t want to be the one trying to keep you from your sister.”

“We wouldn’t even be here if it was the other way around,” Nate calls. “Octavia wouldn’t have come crying to me about it in the first place.”

“No?” Clarke asks, interested.

“She would’ve gone around kicking down every door in the kingdom until she found him.”

“Who could blame her?” Clarke says, and Bellamy feels himself coloring as the princess studies him.

He’s trying to come up with a response, a subject change, anything really, when Monty gasps.

“There it is.”

Bellamy looks where Monty is pointing, his eyes searching frantically for his sister’s face. They’re still too far to make out any details but he can see smoke curling above the trees.

“You sure?” Nate asks.

“Trust me on this.” That energy Bellamy felt with Monty’s presence, the one always on the brink of snapping, builds with anticipation. Begins to crackle. “Magic users can sense each other. That’s where we’re headed.”

“Then let’s pick up the pace,” Clarke says, digging her heels in and spurring her horse forward faster. Bellamy is expecting to fall behind, expecting his horse to follow the pattern of behavior he’s exhibited so far and resist his commands, but something in his attitude must have shifted in a tangible way, for his horse listens and matches pace with the princess’s.

The cottage doesn’t look like much, but as soon as it grows large enough to make out the figure waiting for them on the stoop, they begin to slow.

Bellamy, on the other hand, recognizes the figure and speeds up again. He’s seen that stance before: arms crossed, chin high, feet planted firmly. Rock solid. Ready for a fight. There’s no question in his mind who it is.

He dismounts before his horse has really stopped moving and catches his sister as she throws herself into his arms. One of his hands cradles the back of her head, a residual impulse from holding her as an infant.

She laughs shakily into his shoulder, but her voice is steady when she says, “It’s about time you showed up.”

 

* * *

 

“A misunderstanding,” Bellamy repeats, skeptical. Never, in the days since Octavia had disappeared, did he imagine he would be sitting at the witch’s kitchen table, sipping tea. He also never pictured the hermit princess seated next to him, the adoring gaze his sister keeps throwing the witch’s way, or that the witch would be a huge man only a couple of years older than Bellamy himself. He’s beginning to think his imagination is the problem.

“A misunderstanding,” Octavia says again, firmer this time.

“You’re not a witch?”

“I am the current village witch,” says the man Octavia introduced as Lincoln. “But not the same witch that cursed your mother.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think I do,” Monty says slowly. He’s staring at the witch with undisguised interest, and even if it’s probably mostly interest in his magic, Nate is growing increasingly disgruntled. “Being the court mage is a title, not an inherent part of my identity. Any magical business the court has, they bring it to me. Being a village witch on the outskirts like this is probably a similar position.”

Lincoln nods.

“It’s a job I inherited. My predecessor taught me all I needed to know, and she’s the one who gave your mother the potion.”

“Do you know my mother is dead?” Bellamy asks, his voice harsh. Clarke places a hand on his arm under the table.

“I knew that would be a possibility,” Lincoln nods.

Octavia bites her lip and looks away, her eyes filling with tears. She doesn’t seem surprised, which Bellamy takes as an indication that Lincoln might have warned her. Bellamy feels bad all of a sudden for not breaking the news more gently.

“I can’t undo another witch’s magic,” Lincoln explains, watching Octavia with careful eyes. “I couldn’t stop the curse from bringing your sister here, or from making your mother sick again.”

Clarke’s hand tightens, her nails digging into the soft skin of his arm, and the feeling of dread that had finally subsided, returns. He covers her hand with his other one, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb. She’s not out of options, but that’s not the news they were hoping for.

“And you couldn’t send her back once she got here?”

“He’s never been that far east before,” Octavia puts in. “He didn’t want to send me to the wrong place. He told me I was free to go, but I had no interest in walking back to our village, though it turns out that would have been faster than waiting for you to get here.”

“It took me a couple of days to get a rescue party together.”

Her eyes flicker to Clarke and back.

“Looks like you managed. Want to introduce me to your friends?”

“They can introduce themselves,” he says lightly, looking to Clarke. He isn’t sure what she does and doesn’t want his sister and her witch friend to know, though O already knows Nate is a palace guard, and Monty has already outed himself as the court mage.

Everyone is looking at Clarke, waiting for her lead. Even Lincoln and Octavia seem to recognize her air of authority. She gives Bellamy’s arm one last squeeze and stands, clasping her hands in front of her loosely.

“My name is Clarke, crown princess of Arkadia, and I have my own business to discuss with you.”

If Lincoln is surprised, he doesn’t show it. Octavia reacts, but Bellamy very carefully avoids eye contact. He doesn’t even know how to explain any of this yet, much less answer any of the million questions his sister is sure to have.

“You’ve been cursed,” says Lincoln. Clarke nods stiffly and Bellamy wishes he were still holding onto her. “As has already been stated, I can’t undo magic that isn’t my own.”

“Then perhaps you can help me figure out how to break the curse. Or prevent its effects.”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. I don’t believe there is a way to prevent it.”

“Even if we got rid of every sewing needle in the kingdom?” Nate demands. “Even if she wore armor for the twenty four hours of her birthday? Even if we sedated her–”

“That’s not going to stop magic,” Lincoln says, ignoring Nate’s scowl and turning back to the princess. “Even if you managed to avoid pricking your finger– You know what happened to Octavia and Bellamy’s mother.”

“You’re saying I would die.”

He pauses, looking around the room.

“I’ve heard of your curse. It concerns not just you, but all of your subjects. I believe if you were to find some way to avoid pricking your finger, the consequences would be widespread. There’s no way for me to know for certain.”

Clarke’s knuckles are white from the intensity with which she’s clenching her hands together. Bellamy, unable to just sit there and listen, rises from his chair. Shoulder to shoulder, he’d told Monty. He wants to tell her he’s on her side, and from the way she shifts toward him, he thinks she knows.

“Then how can we break it?”

Lincoln turns his attention to Bellamy.

“It depends on how thoroughly the spell was cast. I’m not familiar with–”

“I am,” Monty says, possibly the only one in the room who isn’t on edge. “I was hired to study the curse, find its weak spots. I can go over it with you.”

“It could take some time,” Lincoln warns them.

“We don’t have much. My birthday is approaching.”

“And her parents will notice she’s gone soon, if they haven’t already,” Nate adds. Lincoln considers this, his eyes drifting to study Octavia’s profile. There’s something in the witch’s face that Bellamy recognizes, something in the way his hard gaze unwinds as he looks at Bellamy’s sister. Bellamy hopes he never finds out exactly how the two of them spent the past couple of weeks together.

“I will accompany you back to the palace and remain until the princess’s twenty-first birthday, unless we crack it sooner.”

Bellamy feels Clarke’s shoulders droop in relief, can hear the sincerity in her voice when she offers her thanks.

Lincoln’s face is serious when he answers.

“Don’t thank me yet.”

 

* * *

 

Monty and Nate hole up with Lincoln in his study, discussing the curse on levels Bellamy doesn’t understand. Octavia offers to show Clarke the room where she’s been staying and the two of them disappear up the stairs, so Bellamy wanders out to check on the horses.

He’s running his hand over Clarke’s horse’s flank when his sister finds him.

“You know, I never doubted that you’d come for me. But I didn’t think you’d drag the mysterious princess out of hiding to do it.”

Bellamy turns to wrap his arms around her again. She leans her forehead on his shoulder, and they both breathe in deeply. It’s a perfect fit, the way her head rests just under his chin.

He used to think he was made for this: for taking care of his sister, for comforting her, for giving her all of his love. It’s still a significant part of who he is, but he can’t shake the memory of holding Clarke in his arms the night before, the feeling of her hands holding his, her breath against his skin. Love is not a finite resource, he thinks. Maybe he can give it to more than one person and still have enough to go around.

“I like to keep you on your toes,” he jokes, releasing O so she can breathe. “Just when you think I’ve gone as big as I can go, that’s when I hit you with something bigger.”

She rolls her eyes, her gaze catching on the horses.

“Did they make you ride one of these?” She asks, reaching to stroke the neck of the nearest animal.

“Yes, and I’ll have you know I didn’t fall off once.”

“You know Nate will tell me the truth, right?”

“That is the truth,” he replies, indignant. She smirks. “If Nate tells you otherwise, he’s making something up to embarrass me.”

“Nobody ever has to make things up for that. You do a good enough job on your own.”

“You’re such a brat,” he groans, pushing her shoulder lightly. “Remind me why I thought it was a good idea to come rescue you?”

“Because you have a hero complex.” She cocks her head thoughtfully, feeding the horse some hay. “Is that all it is between you and her? Some fundamental need to save everyone? Because the way you were acting earlier, I can’t tell.”

She doesn’t have to specify who the ‘her’ in question is. Acting like he doesn’t know who she’s talking about would ultimately be more suspicious than addressing her concerns outright.

“I don’t know, O,” he says quietly. “I think it’s more than that.”

“She’s a _princess_ , Bell.”

“I know.”

“She’s the heir to the throne.”

“I know that too.” He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. Between the wind that comes from riding horseback and not having bathed in several days, it’s full of snarls and it tugs against his scalp sharply when his fingers get caught. “It’s stupid to feel this way. For so many reasons, not least of which is that she’s cursed.”

Octavia studies him with their mother’s eyes, a practiced inventory, then shrugs.

“As long as you know it’s stupid.”

“Really? That’s it?”

“I’m hoping if I don’t give you a hard time about your love life, you won’t give me a hard time about mine.”

“No promises,” he says darkly. O rolls her eyes again, less fondly this time, and loops her arm through his.

“We can argue about it later. I’m hungry now. Let’s go see what we can find in the way of dinner.”

 

* * *

 

The trip back is shorter with Lincoln at their side.

Bellamy isn’t sure how the magic works, but when the soft-spoken man announces it will take about a day to return to the palace, Bellamy believes him.

He keeps pace with the princess, partially because she’s been tense and quiet since she disappeared into her room the night before, and partially because he needs to put some distance between himself and Octavia. It’s bad enough she’s sharing Lincoln’s horse; to hear his baby sister flirting is more than he can bear.

Clarke doesn’t initiate conversation and he figures that means she doesn’t want to talk. Apparently he’s wrong because she breaks less than thirty minutes in.

“Are you really going to just ride quietly?”

“I’ve got one or two things on my mind. I’ve been busy thinking.”

“So think out loud.” She rolls her shoulders back and he wishes he could take a little bit of the weight off of them. Share her burden in some way. “I’m going mad with this silence. I need a distraction.”

Bellamy pauses. He could tell her the truth– that his mind is running through any and every scenario he can come up with to break her curse– but that’s not probably what she wants to hear. Not now.

“I never got my sister a birthday present,” is what he says instead. Almost instantaneously, the princess’s perfect posture begins to relax. He thinks she might even be tempted to smile.

“That’s what you’ve been preoccupied with?”

“Beats thinking about where Lincoln’s hands are right now.” She’s smiling outright now, and even if it is at his expense he can’t feel bad about it. “She poofed away before I could even make her special birthday breakfast, and my mom was usually the one who got her a present if we could afford it. Now I’m stuck trying to figure out what an eighteen-year-old girl wants.”

“A daring rescue isn’t gift enough?”

“You would think. But it turned out to be not so much a daring rescue as a lift home. Standard older brother stuff.”

“So tell her your gift is going to be not interrogating her about how she passed the time alone with her crush,” Clarke suggests, amusement in her tone. “That’s probably what she really wants anyways.”

“Sure,” Bellamy scoffs. “As long as we’re making promises I can’t keep we might as well tell her I’ll give her a pony, or chocolate cake every day.”

“If cake for every meal is something she wants, I could help make that happen,” Clarke says after a pause. “At least– every day until my own birthday.”

“What, do you think we need extra incentive to try to break the curse?”

“No. I don’t suppose you want to fall into eternal sleep any more than I want to make you.”

“Hey,” he says, so sharply that he can feel Nate’s eyes boring into the back of his skull. “There is no way any of this is your fault.”

“I’m–.”

“You’re what? A ticking time bomb? That’s not true, Clarke. You’re just the timer. Regardless, we’re going to find a way to stop it. There has to be one.”

“If anyone could save the world by sheer will, my money would be on you,” she tells him, affectionate but resigned. Like she’s given up hope. Like she’s started to accept her fate.

“Screw the world,” he mutters, forcing away the flames that threaten to rise in his cheeks when she glances at him in shock. “I don’t give a damn about everyone in the kingdom. I’m in this to save _my_ people, and that includes you.”

She doesn’t respond right away and it’s enough to make him nervous. He’d tried to stay off this line of conversation, but she’d steered it here anyway. She can’t shut down on him again. It’s not fair.

“Everyone in the kingdom is my people,” she says finally. “My responsibility. As a member of the ruling family, that’s how it has to be. But there are some who feel more mine than others– What I mean to say is– I’m grateful that– well–”

“You’re so bad at this,” he laughs. “Just say ‘thank you,’ or ‘back at you,’ or something.”

“Can’t you just let me say something nice?”

“I would if you could get the words out.”

“You’re my people too,” she says, forcefully, loudly. Bellamy works very hard to not check whether any of their companions overheard. “There. That’s all I wanted to say, jackass.”

“Yeah, but I’m _your_ jackass.”

Her voice sounds funny again when she speaks, but this time he can’t put his finger on why.

“My jackass indeed.”

 

* * *

 

It’s strange to return home. Though Octavia is back, their house feels emptier without his mother, and after the past few days, he’s gotten used to the presence of certain other people. He feels restless, exposed. Octavia isn’t happy about being separated from Lincoln either, and their moods drag each other further and further down.

They both pretty much go straight to bed, then spend the majority of the next day moping until there’s a knock on the door mid-afternoon.

“I’ll get it,” Octavia calls, already halfway to the front of the house. Bellamy, for lack of anything more interesting to do, trails after her.

“Oh,” he hears her say, her voice dropping. “It’s Nate.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” he smirks, looking between the siblings’ crestfallen expressions. “I came to pick you up. You’re part of the curse-breaking focus group now, or whatever.”

“Well, what took you so long?” Octavia demands, hurrying her brother out the door and hoisting herself up on Lincoln’s horse, which must have been sent for her.

“The princess spent most of the morning explaining Lincoln’s presence to her parents and arguing with them about the choices she makes. As if it will get them anywhere.”

“How come you’re the one coming to get us? Aren’t you supposed to be guarding her?” Bellamy asks, mounting the horse he’s come to think of as his.

“I’ve been given two weeks suspension, in light of recent events,” Nate says, but he doesn’t sound unhappy about it. “If the curse doesn’t work, that is. My replacement is just as close with the princess, though. It won’t do them much good if she decides she wants to go out again.”

“Then why did they pick him?”

“Her. And she carries special favor with the Queen.”

Lieutenant Reyes, as it turns out, is fierce, brilliant, and unconcerned with niceties. The first thing she does when the three of them arrive is to give Bellamy a once-over, then exchange a knowing smirk with Monty.

“Wow, it’s like you were never replaced,” Bellamy whispers to Nate. “Creepy.”

Nate gives him a less-than-gentle shove and moves to look over Monty’s shoulder at whatever he’s working on.

“I guess you two are Bellamy and Octavia?” Asks Reyes. Bellamy is beginning to wonder if she’s just really smug or if her face stuck that way.

“That’s us.”

“Call me Raven. I’ve heard _so much_ about you.”

“I’d tell her to be nice–” Clarke says in a stage whisper, appearing out of nowhere at his elbow. He grins down at her, the empty spot that had appeared in his chest when they parted suddenly feeling quite full.

“I don’t guess it would do much good,” he replies conspiratorially.

“Believe it or not, this _is_ nice for Raven.”

“No more referring to them as Lieutenant Reyes and Lieutenant Miller?”

“My escape from the joint broke me of that habit,” she says, chipper. More cheerful than he would have expected, honestly. They only have a handful of days left until her birthday.

“This is awful to watch,” Raven declares, turning to join Nate where he stands with Lincoln and Monty. “Where are we?”

“Looking into the possibilities of double-cursing her.”

“That seems like the opposite of helpful,” Clarke frowns.

“Yeah. We want her less cursed, not more cursed,” Bellamy adds, following on her heels.

“We get that, genius,” Monty says, rolling his eyes. It’s a lot more snark than Bellamy expects from Monty. Then again, he has likely been working on this without ceasing since they got back. Bellamy’s jokes probably won’t be well-received.

“We’re hoping a second curse could counteract the effects of the first,” Lincoln says calmly. Octavia is perched on the arm of his chair, entirely too close to his lap for Bellamy’s comfort.

“Like cursing her so that the day after her birthday, she pricks her finger on another needle and everybody wakes up?”

“Does it have to be finger pricking?” Clarke says mildly. “Couldn’t it be, like, a puppy crawls into my lap and everybody wakes up? I wouldn’t mind something cute and cuddly. Or at the very least, a time-based catalyst.”

“Yeah, everybody gets a good eight hours and then _bam_.” Nate slams his hand on the table to punctuate his words and Monty jumps. “Curse over.”

“We’re not sure that will work,” Lincoln says. “My magic may not be stronger than the original curse. And if I cast it too strong, nobody may ever be able to sleep again.”

“Which would lead to widespread crankiness, and eventually death,” Monty chimes in.

“That’s no good,” says Raven unhelpfully.

“Tell me about it.” Monty rubs his eyes and leans back into Nate’s chest like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Unconsciously seeking comfort. They have bigger things to focus on, but Bellamy is privately glad Nate’s around to offer that.

“What about true love?” Octavia asks. “Doesn’t that traditionally break a spell?”

“Again, it depends how strong the curse is. And how strong the love is.” Lincoln sounds thoughtful, like he hasn’t completely ruled this out yet.

“How do you give true love’s kiss to a whole kingdom?” Nate asks.

“Royal edict to make out with everyone you see on the Princess’s birthday,” Raven suggests.

“It would have to be that, or something similar,” Monty points out. “Plenty of us don’t know who our true love is.”

“Shouldn’t it just be Clarke’s true love?” Octavia is staring at the princess like she’s got the answer written on her forehead. Like she can see inside her brain, figure out how it’s constructed. “She’s the cursed one, after all.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” Clarke says stiffly. She’s paled during this part of the conversation, and she feels very far from Bellamy though he could reach out and touch her. He wishes he knew what she was thinking. “The true love thing might be worth looking into, except that I don’t know who my true love is, and even if I did, there’s a significant chance they’d be asleep with the rest of the kingdom.”

“But–”

“Monty needs a break.” She’s using her most authoritative voice, and it silences Octavia immediately. “Lincoln could probably use one too. And I need some air. We’ll reconvene in twenty minutes.”

Without making eye contact, she strides out the door onto her balcony, Raven following a respectful distance behind her.

Bellamy exchanges a look first with Octavia, then with Nate.

“I’m going to see if I can talk her down.”

“You do that,” Nate snorts, holding a hand out to help Monty up.

Raven is giving the princess some space when Bellamy wanders out onto the balcony, casual as an afternoon stroll. Clarke leans against the rail, looking like something out of a portrait or an illustration of a fairy tale, as she gazes out into the garden.

“They sent you to come check on me?”

“I volunteered.”

He leans next to her, searching the vast grounds for the sculptures she’d mentioned before.

“Well?” She snaps after a moment of silence. He turns his head and raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to tell me they didn’t mean to upset me, or everyone is tense right now, or… I don’t know, anything?”

“Sounds like you already know all that.” She wilts at this, turning away again. “If you tell me what’s really wrong, maybe I can say something to make you feel better. Until then, all I can do is be here for you.”

She digests this, then tips to the right so she can lean her head on his shoulder.

“It’s not their fault,” she sighs.

“No kidding.”

“It’s not implausible that I could have found true love by now.”

“If your parents had let you properly socialize, sure, I guess.”

“Plenty of people fall in love at least once in their lives by age twenty one.”

“I was only six when it happened to me.”

“Overachiever,” she teases, but it feels forced.

“There are lots of kinds of love, Clarke.” He shakes his shoulder so she’ll pick her head up and he can watch her expression. “At six years old, my mother put this tiny, crying thing in my arms and that was it. I never loved anyone like I love Octavia.” Her eyes soften when he says his sister’s name, and facing their full power is almost more than he can take. But he needs her to understand this.

“Monty told me something about you. He says once you’ve decided someone is yours, that’s it. You’re irrevocably on their side. Until the end of their days, they can count on the princess of Arkadia.” She looks down at her hands, tracing random designs on the balcony rail, and he places one of his on top to still them. Her gaze returns to his. “I’m the same way.”

He adjusts their hands so that their fingers are laced together. He can feel the line of her arm against his, wrist to wrist, elbow to elbow, shoulder to shoulder. Ready for a fight.

“I keep my circle smaller,” he admits, earning a tentative smile. “But we’re alike. So I know that you love resolutely. Wholeheartedly. And you inspire fierce loyalty in return. If anyone’s love is strong enough to break this curse, it’s yours, and if anyone is loved enough to break this curse, it’s you.”

He’s staring so hard at their hands that he doesn’t even see them. It isn’t until she pulls one of her hands back that his eyes focus, just in time for her to use that hand to tilt his chin up so that he meets her gaze. There’s fire burning there, even as her eyes glass over with unshed tears, and he can’t look away.

“Can I–” She swallows. “I need to try–”

She interrupts herself by stepping into him fully, crashing into him just as she brings her lips to meet his. She pours all of herself into the kiss; it’s sad and exciting, colored both with joy and pain, and he has no idea if it’s enough to break a curse but it feels magical all the same.

He softens the kiss, reveling in how easy it is to forget the differences in their station.

“Think that did the trick?” He asks in a low voice when she pulls away.

“If I say no, do I get to kiss you again?”

“You don’t have to tell me it’s for the good of the kingdom to get me to make out with you,” he grins, and she swats at his arm.

“For the record, I would have done that anyway,” she tells him, one hand still playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. “That was for me, not for the kingdom. Not for the curse.”

“It’s been twenty minutes, Your Highness,” Raven calls from the doorway. She’s staring pointedly at the sky, as if to make sure they know she doesn’t particularly want to watch whatever’s going on between them.

“Let’s go see if that worked.”

 

* * *

 

“It was worth a try,” says Monty, glum. “But I can still see the aura of the curse around you.”

“Maybe Bellamy just isn’t a good enough kisser,” Nate suggests.

“Anytime you want to find out, just get your pretty face over here.”

“We don’t even know if true love can break this kind of spell,” says Lincoln, before Nate can respond. Monty shoots Bellamy a dirty look and he tries to refrain from smirking. “Or if it would have to apply to the kingdom at large. I agree that it was a good attempt, but we should keep looking for alternatives.”

“Feel free to kiss me whenever you feel like it, though,” Clarke says in a soft voice. Just for Bellamy.

“That’s most of the time,” he points out. “And while it might be true that nobody in this room cares, your parents at the very least would not like it.”

“They won’t be around,” Clarke snorts. “Dad is holed up with his own friends, trying to figure out how he can break it or track down the original witch. And Mom is meeting with the kingdom’s healers, trying to figure out how to keep everyone healthy if the curse does take effect.”

“Maybe we should get everyone in the kingdom to kiss Clarke,” Raven suggests, winking at the princess.

“If you can prove to me that will break the curse, I’ll do it, but it seems like a big and impractical plan to try on the hopes that it’ll work.”

“We’ll keep brainstorming,” Lincoln assures her.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy tries not to count down the days until Clarke’s birthday, but it’s difficult not to when he spends almost all of his time over the next couple of weeks cooped up in her quarters, thinking about the curse that’s about to take effect.

The King, contrary to Clarke’s assurances, does wander in from time to time, to see if they’ve made any headway with the curse. He appears increasingly dejected at the lack of progress, seems to want to be close to his daughter, always smoothing his hand over her blonde curls and tracing her features with sad eyes. Bellamy instinctively puts distance between himself and Clarke whenever the King drops by, but one afternoon he arrives when Clarke is tucked under Bellamy’s arm, asleep with her head on Bellamy’s chest.

She hasn’t been sleeping well as of late, too anxious and distracted, so Bellamy is loathe to wake her. Besides, he doesn’t think the King will punish him just for comforting his daughter. He hopes not, anyway, because he’s not planning to move.

And the King doesn’t say anything about it, just evaluates Bellamy with a little more interest than before, nods, and backs out of the room.

“Good news,” Bellamy says when Clarke stirs. “I don’t think your father is planning to execute me.”

“Don't worry. There's always my mother." She pauses. "Were you worried?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, I’m glad that’s a weight off your mind.”

“There’s still plenty of weight,” he says, serious. Her birthday is only a few days away now, and it feels like they’re no closer to breaking the curse than they were before. As stressful as the past few weeks have been, they’ve also been some of the best of his life, and Clarke is to blame for all of it.

Even so, every time Octavia looks at him she has more pity in her eyes, and he hates it. Hates that they’ve all started to despair of finding a solution.

There has to be one.

“I know,” she sighs. “My parents have required an audience with Lincoln tonight. I’m supposed to be there. It’s contingency time.”

“Do you want me to wait here?” He and Octavia have been sleeping at the palace most nights. Nate and Monty and Raven all have their own quarters, and Octavia shares Lincoln’s guest room, which he tries not to think too much about. He usually ends up wrapped around Clarke in her bed, purity and propriety be damned.

“No,” she says softly, placing gentle kisses on his collarbone. “You should go home. Get some real rest, and a change of clothes. I don’t have any idea how long it will take, but I’ll send someone for you when we’re done.”

“If you’re sure.”

She presses the next kiss to his lips, easy and slow.

“I’m sure. Besides, you need to bathe. I didn’t know how to break it to you before–”

“Ah yes, I’ve worked up quite a stench surrounding myself in luxury and decadence.”

“You smell like my perfume,” Clarke says, wrinkling her nose even as she buries it into his shoulder. “I like it better when you smell like you, instead of like me.”

“Fine,” he groans, not bothering to hide his smile since her eyes are drifting shut again. “I’ll bathe. But let it be known that courting a princess is way more work than I thought it would be.”

“I’ll have an edict issued in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

The sun hasn’t even risen yet when he’s woken by a knock on his door.

His first impulse is to rocket out of bed in alarm. Perhaps something happened to Clarke, or Octavia. Maybe they found a cure. Maybe the curse set in a day too early.

He feels a rush of relief when he opens the door to find Clarke standing on the other side of it. Raven is waiting a few yards back with their horses, and while he can’t see her expression in the dark he’s pretty certain she’s giving him a warning look.

“What’s going on?” He asks, his pulse still racing.

“I couldn’t sleep on my own,” she admits. “I’ve gotten used to having you around. May I– Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course.” He stands aside, mind still reeling as she slips past him, shutting the door softly behind her. Apparently Raven is staying on the other side of it. “I’m not really awake yet, or I’d give you the tour.”

“You’re out of breath.”

“I panicked when I heard the knock. Thought something big had happened.”

“Sorry my life isn’t dramatic enough for you,” she says with a wry smile. He rolls his eyes and links his fingers with hers, drawing her close.

“That’s exactly it,” he says, stroking his hands up and down her arms. He’s still not entirely certain he’s not dreaming. “I’m leaving you for someone more interesting.”

“Unfortunately, in a couple of days you’ll both fall into eternal slumber. Don’t ever say my revenge game is weak.” Her voice aims to be teasing but sounds tiny with the way she burrows into his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin.

“I wouldn’t dare.” He pauses. “So they didn’t come up with anything?”

“Nothing that isn’t awful,” she sighs. “Is there somewhere more comfortable we could be having this conversation? I’ve been sitting around in an uncomfortable chair for the past several hours.”

“I’ve got a bed. Nothing as fancy as at a palace, but it does smell like me. I’ve heard you’re into that.”

“I am into that,” she laughs, following as he steers them toward his room. She wastes no time snuggling into his side, tucking the blanket around them and inhaling deeply. “I like your home. I could see myself visiting here often. You know, if we had more than a day left.”

“We do,” he insists, tightening his arm around her. “We’ll figure something out.”

“Can we figure it out later?”

Her voice slurs. He noses her hairline and drops a kiss on her forehead.

“Whenever you want.”

Waking up to Clarke is nothing new. He’s been doing it practically as long as he’s known her. Waking up with her half on top of him, him half hard, in his actual bed, is pretty novel. Everything around him is something he considers his, even the sleeping girl in his arms, to some extent. He wonders if this is how Clarke feels all the time: satisfied, content.

“Can I get the tour now?” She whispers against the juncture of his neck and his shoulder. She sounds a little groggy. Though she’s never pretended to be a morning person, he can’t help but think she must be trying to make the most of every moment until her birthday.

Until tomorrow.

“Don’t you need to get back?”

“You and I both know I’m not much help in the brainstorming process.”

He laughs, the rumble in his chest shaking her and bringing a giddy smile to her face.

“Then of course, princess. Let me show you my kingdom.”

She inspects everything as if it will unlock grand secrets, from a crude sword made of bound branches and twigs that belonged to Octavia as a child, to the few precious books he’s managed to secure, to his mother’s neatly embroidered skirts that still hang at her work station. The latter are nothing like what Clarke might wear, much simpler and more colorful than the elegant wardrobe she’s wrangled into at the palace, but she drinks everything in greedily.

He scrapes lunch together for them– vegetables from the garden that hasn’t been especially well-tended as of late– and she makes him read to her in the afternoon. It’s a dream of a day. One Bellamy knows can’t last, yet one he can’t make himself wake from. He wants to draw it out as long as he can, pretend that maybe it could be like this between them always.

Eventually the light of the day begins to fade. Clarke has already begun to withdraw, a look of sorrow on her face.

“They came up with a plan last night,” Bellamy guesses.

“They didn’t, but I did.” She draws a breath. “I’m going to prick my finger. On purpose.”

“And activate the curse?” She nods. “And then what?”

Her laugh is pained and heartbreaking.

“Who knows? Maybe Lincoln keeps working on it. Maybe one day, something else will deactivate the curse. But it’s the only way I can think of to keep my kingdom– my people– alive.”

“Clarke–”

“There are families, Bell,” she interrupts, desperate for him to understand. “Children. People who love each other, people who hate each other. If I do this, it gives everyone a fighting chance to maybe, someday, keep living their lives.”

As she speaks, her words speed up and her voice crescendoes. She’s set in her decision, he knows, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t scared. He crosses to where she’s standing and places his hands on her shoulders, watching as her eyes flutter shut and her breathing slows.

“Clarke,” he repeats. “I think you’re right.”

Her eyes snap open.

“You do?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I hate the idea. But it's what I'd do for my people, and I think it’s your best shot at survival, so–”

She cuts him off with a swift kiss. He slides his hands into her hair and tilts her head to deepen it, slow it down. As if they have all the time in the world.

“I have to go to the palace,” she whispers when he finally pulls away. Her forehead is still pressed against his and he’s not sure how he’s going to let her go. “My parents wanted to say goodbye.”

“I understand.”

“Come find me when you wake up.”

“I will.” She’s at the door before he realizes. “Wait.” He fishes around in the pockets of his trousers, searching for what he knows he keeps on him at all times: a sewing kit, complete with a needle. She bites her lip and half-smiles when he holds it out for her to take. “You’ll need this.”

“See you soon, Bellamy.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

 

* * *

 

The night passes slowly.

Octavia finds him staring into nothingness and wraps herself around him in a hug. Part of his mind says it’s because they both know she’s subject to the curse and Lincoln isn’t. He’ll be working solo to wake everyone up. But another, smaller part tells him she might have realized how much he needs her by his side.

Neither of them sleep. They trade whispered memories and bad jokes until dawn breaks, and then it’s just… waiting.

And waiting.

And waiting.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Octavia snaps, around lunchtime. “Can’t she get on with it already?”

“Eager to get some supernatural shut-eye?”

“I just hate not knowing when it will happen,” his sister complains. “I need to pee, but what if that’s when it hits? I don’t want to fall asleep on the toilet for eternity. That’s just embarrassing. And bad for my back.”

“You’ll probably wet yourself anyway,” he muses. “Can’t hold it forever, you know?”

“Gross.” She wrinkles her nose. “Can you imagine what we’re going to smell like, after a thousand years of not moving?”

“I wonder if you snore in cursed sleep.”

“Even a curse can’t cure you of snoring, Bell.” She pauses. “That’s it, I’m going now before it gets any worse.”

She’s barely been gone any time at all when Bellamy hears the sound of frantic hooves beating against the path, followed by insistent banging on his door. He leaps up and throws the door open to find Nate standing on the other side.

“What–”

Nate has his arms around Bellamy’s shoulders, gripping him in a tight hug before Bellamy can even process what’s happening. Octavia comes running from the bathroom.

“She did it,” Nate says, pulling away to look Bellamy in the eye. “She pricked her stupid finger with the stupid needle your stupid ass gave her–”

“Wait, _you_ gave her the needle?” Octavia demands, crossing her arms. “This is at least fifty percent your fault, then.”

“Clarke?” Bellamy asks, heart in his throat. Nate sobers instantly.

“She’s out. Dead asleep, just like the curse said. We’ve tried all kinds of things to wake her.”

“Is she snoring?”

“More importantly, why are we still awake?” Bellamy demands.

“Who the hell cares?” Nate grabs Bellamy’s arm and yanks him out, pushing him toward the horse. Octavia follows curiously behind. “Lincoln and Monty have all kinds of theories, but they depend upon getting you to the palace. Now.”

“Alright, alright,” he grumbles, but he’s already swinging himself into the saddle. Already halfway there, in his mind. “I’m going.”

The ride to the castle is quicker than any he’s ever taken before. Octavia stays behind since Nate just brought the one horse, demanding that they send Lincoln’s for her at their first opportunity. The witch is already on it, speaking to the animal in low tones when Bellamy and Nate reach the stables.

“Clarke?”

“In her chambers,” Lincoln assures him. “Hang on, I’ll come with you.” He finishes murmuring to the horse and sets it free, trusting its obedience and navigational abilities as it trots away.

“What’s going on? Nate isn’t as informed I'd like.”

“Screw you. I kept you in the loop, didn’t I?”

“We think the true love theory has some merit after all,” Lincoln says, smoothly cutting off any more of Nate’s grumbling. Bellamy wonders if maybe Nate and Monty stayed up all night like he and Octavia did, and that’s why he’s so out of sorts at this frankly positive development.

“I don’t understand.”

“As far as I can tell, Clarke willingly accepted the effects of the curse in order to save her people,” Lincoln explains as they mount the staircase. “An act of true love for her people. She bore the effects of the curse so they wouldn’t have to.”

“And that’s why we’re all still awake?”

Lincoln shrugs.

“It’s my best guess. Either that, or the witch wasn’t as powerful as he or she lead everyone to believe.”

“But if it is the true love thing–”

“Then it’s possible Clarke can be woken,” Lincoln nods, stopping short outside the doors to Clarke’s chambers. “Her parents have already tried, to no avail. We thought maybe–”

“Yeah.” Bellamy wipes his hands on his pants, suddenly nervous. What if this doesn’t work? How can he live with knowing Clarke will forever face this fate for her people?

But… what if it does work?

“I think I’m caught up,” he tells Lincoln, receiving a clap on the back before Nate ushers him into the room.

They’re just as they’ve always been: plush and expensive and uncomfortable, except now they lack the one thing that made him want to spend time there. He pushes through the sitting room to her bedroom, not waiting for the guard– one he doesn’t know– to open the doors for him.

She’s alone in the room, and it’s honestly a little eerie. He can see her chest rise and fall with her breath, which loosens something within his chest.

The rest of her remains so still, so like a wax replica. Her curls are perfectly placed upon the pillow, as if someone came in after she did the deed and arranged her that way. She’s sleeping on her back with her hands folded across her stomach.

That, more than anything, is what freaks Bellamy out. Clarke sleeps on her side, fists gripping the covers and tucking them just under her chin. She’s a restless sleeper, tossing and turning and even talking from time to time. This near-lifeless thing she’s got going on now could only be the product of magic, Bellamy thinks as he sinks onto the bed next to her and takes one of her hands in his own.

“This feels creepy,” he mutters, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Like, seriously. I’m going to have nightmares about this forever. You better wake up so you can consent.”

With nothing left to say to her– at least, not to this version of her– he leans down and presses his lips, dry and cracked, to hers.

For a long moment, it seems like it’s not going to work. She remains motionless and he’s overthinking it and he’s even beginning to draw back when her hand tightens around his.

“You call that a kiss?” She asks, her voice hoarse, though she can’t have been asleep for more than an hour.

“It broke the damn curse, didn’t it?”

He’s laughing, nearly _crying_ with relief, full and real this time. It balloons in his chest until she reaches up with one hand and drags him back down to her lips, and he can’t stress enough how much better it is to be kissing her when she’s completely and enthusiastically reciprocating. When she nips at his smile, threatening to disrupt the moment, when her tongue moves against the seam of his lips, when she makes noises of pleasure.

“What happened?” She asks him when he moves to mouth along her jaw. “How–”

“Long story short, you’re not the kind of princess who needed any help saving the day.”

She pulls him back to her lips, tempering it so it’s a little sweeter and a lot less frantic.

“Long story short, it turns out I’m _really_ not a morning person.”

He laughs again at this, ducking his head so it’s resting on her shoulder, and he can practically feel her beaming as she cards her fingers through his hair. He’s about to speak when they’re cut off by pounding on the door.

“What’s going on in there?” Nate demands. “Is she awake?”

“She’s awake,” Clarke calls victoriously, sitting up a little as Bellamy rolls to one side of her. “If you want to verify for yourself, you’d better come in while we’re still decent.”

Nate says something along the lines of, “I’ll take your word for it,” and retreats. Bellamy places a chaste kiss behind Clarke’s ear, unable to shake the smile from his face.

“We’ll have to remain decent for at least a little while longer. Your parents will want to see you and they probably won’t like finding me in your bed even if we’re fully clothed.”

“They’ll just have to get used to having you around. It appears you’re my true love.”

“No pressure,” he says, heart light and joyful when she grins up at him.

“No pressure at all. Just living happily ever after.”

Bellamy doesn’t necessarily believe in happily ever afters. He’s seen his fair share of pain and suffering and he knows that sometimes, that’s the way life goes. But with Clarke in his arms and the kingdom safe for the moment, he lets himself hope, because happily ever after seems a little more possible than it ever had before.

“Sounds pretty good to me.”


End file.
